


familiarity

by Ultimatum



Series: break it yourself [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Child Abuse, Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Hurt/Comfort, Self-Hatred, self harm (through violence)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-31 02:33:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21050981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ultimatum/pseuds/Ultimatum
Summary: You think that all along, throughout all your stubbornness, you just wanted someone to sit you down and tell you that it's okay to be human.-Still, the familiarity of being hurt is easy to lapse back into.





	familiarity

**Author's Note:**

> this one's heavy, sorry in advance.
> 
> i reference a tedtalk (link here) with the whole "wanting to be hurt in the way you need to be hurt to feel loved" thing. would totally recommend to people who want to learn more about how we repeat the pain of our childhoods in future relationships: 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DCS6t6NUAGQ&t=958s
> 
> also! i drew something for this (: heres a link https://twitter.com/hipdadz/status/1184290348107010048?s=20

Your name is Dave Strider, and finally being away from your Bro is making you realize a lot of shit about yourself that you'd rather not confront. 

It's in the little things, shining through innocuous actions and innocent questions. It's in your stubbornness. Your almost compulsive need to do everything by yourself. 

It's in the way you deny yourself even the barest of comforts without even realizing it, as if you're trying to fortify yourself against something that has yet to come. As if you're trying to get stronger before... Before what?

Before something, though you don't know what. Rationally, you guess that Bro isn't watching you anymore. There's nothing to prepare for. He's not going to spring shit on you when you least expect it, and Dirk isn't going to pull anything either. Rationally, you know that you're safe, but your conditioning runs deep, and you're starting to think that maybe, you'll never be free of it. 

You're wrestling with something that's somehow more insidious than Bro: your own mind. Your own thoughts, which sometimes feel traitorous and foreign. Perhaps they are. 

Because when you're laying in bed, confused, unsure what to do with yourself, one thought comes back around like clockwork. The thought that maybe, what Bro did to you is preferable to whatever _this_ is. Whatever this safety entails.

The predictability of pain is easy to slip into, and even easier to get comfortable with. Easy to internalize and re-enact. Over and over and over. Until you understand the messages you've been fed your whole life more than anyone else could ever hope to.

But this? Safe with Dirk? Bro in jail?

You can't consolidate it, not without confronting what he did to you, at least. And you haven't even been able to accept the sheer scope of that just yet. You're not sure if you want to. You might as well be a stranger to your own body, an invader to your own thoughts, the thoughts that Bro found a way to worm into you without your conscious input. 

It fucks you up. You don't know how much of you is, well, _you_ and how much of you is him, or an echo of his poisonous grip on you. 

There's too much to untangle there, and you're not sure you'll like what you'll find. So sometimes it's easier to slip back into the comfort of relying on the beliefs he programmed into you. It's a crutch you desperately need while you figure out exactly what you are. Who you are. Without Bro, at least.

Even though you'd rather hole yourself up with your familiar beliefs, sometimes you can't avoid the strangeness of this new life, and the fresh sorts of pain that it brings. 

It often comes up in small ways. Innocently. Dirk comments, "Why aren't you wearing a jacket?" and you suddenly feel like he's turned a spotlight to you. How can you explain without sounding like a total freak that you don't think you deserve one? That if you can't stand the cold without one, you haven't earned the right to that luxury? 

How do you make sense of the hoops you jump through to even justify it to yourself? How do you phrase it, without sounding stupid, that you thought nothing of it before he brought it up? That it was just the way your brain thought through it: it's cold outside. But you don't deserve a jacket. You can deal without one. Business as usual. 

It's in moments like this that you realize just how deep Bro runs in you. It makes you think, with some cold, distant horror, that even if you were on your death-bed, you'd probably let yourself die before getting treatment. Because there's this part of you that reeks of Bro, and it says _if you're not strong enough on your own, what makes you think you deserve to be alive in the first place?_

It's fucked up. You're fucked up. He isn't here to watch you, yet you're still desperately trying to prove that you're self-sufficient. And for what?

Who's keeping a tally of the foods you force yourself to eat, even when you don't like them? What are you gaining by building yourself up through discomfort? Is there anything _to_ build up in the first place? Dirk is worried about you. Anyone with eyes would be worried about you, you think, and you hate to admit that despite your constant self-regulation, you're only succeeding in making yourself worse off. You're only succeeding in plunging yourself further down the hole Bro dug for you. 

Despite everything, despite the new chance you've been given, you feel lost and empty. It's unfamiliar. Not just your new living situation with Dirk, but your own emotions, too. You never thought it'd be this scary to be unequivocally safe, but the fear consumes you until you're a strung-out mess, until you're more afraid than you _ever_ were with Bro here with you. 

It's fucked up. Full stop. It's fucked up because you miss him. It's fucked up that you want him back after all your bitching and moaning. Where's the Dave who was so desperate to escape that he let his Bro get arrested? Where's the Dave who saved money, dreamt about a future far far away, and imagined how good it would be?

It's objectively better in every single way, living with Dirk, yet you think you feel worse than you've ever felt. Unstable. Afraid in a new way, a way you've never been before. Empty, like your purpose for living has up and left for good. Empty, like maybe all along, Bro was right, and you really are nothing without him. Otherwise, why would you be feeling so fucking bad about all this? 

You don't know what you are, or who you are now, and it sends you somewhere dark. It makes you question whether or not you've ever been a person in the first place. It sounds stupid, but your brain can rationalize it far too easily. 

After all, you wouldn't be the person you are today if Bro hadn't been there for you, right? If it weren't for him, you'd be weak. If it weren't for him, you'd have grown up being a nobody. You'd have grown up different, so don't you owe your life to the guy?

Yet...

You think of all the pain and the agony. You think of hot days on the roof. You think of how ostracized you feel to this day, like you're an outsider looking in at all the normal, happy, well-adjusted people. The people who had moms and dads who asked them how they were doing. Comforted them. You're looking in, this broken tool without use, and wondering where it is you'd ever _ever_ fit in here. 

You don't belong. And that's Bro's fault, isn't it? Or is it _your_ fault for not adapting well enough to what he expected from you?

You don't think you'll ever find the answers you're looking for. 

Late at night, you stare unseeingly at the wall, wondering to yourself. Going back. Thinking. You try to remember when everything got so messed up. You try to figure out why you feel so broken, like a dismantled robot. A pile of fabric that Bro's yet to sew together. It's hard to be your own person. So yeah, maybe you do regret leaving. 

A disgusting, shameful part of you wants to hand yourself back over to him. To give in to that desire, deep in your heart, to be hurt in the way that makes you feel loved.

To be hurt in the way that makes you feel loved...

It's fucked up. You're fucked in the head. You should've never done this to him. Not after everything he did for (to) you. 

Yet...

Dirk deals with you so patiently. 

Yet you miss Bro.

Yet Dirk doesn't hurt you. 

Yet you want to be hurt. 

Yet you're so grateful for everything Dirk does that you can barely take it. 

Yet you hate yourself because you don't deserve it. 

Yet you want to be loved. 

Yet you don't associate kindness with love, and that's what hurts the most. 

Yet you want to learn. 

Yet you can't. 

Yet you can't.

Yet you can't. 

Yet you can't. 

You're fucked. Irrevocably.

And that's the bottom line, isn't it? It's what leads you out late at night to wander around the suburbs, desperately looking for something, anything, that can scratch the depraved itch you have building up inside you. You're looking for something that can fill you, or fix you, or at least make you feel less like you're trapped in the cell of your own mind. 

You know what would help.

It's just finding it that's the tricky part.

You have twenty years of experience under your belt, so it isn't as hard as you thought it'd be to find someone that fits the bill. Tall, lean, muscular. Eyes that suggest violence without the need for words. You're pathetic, you think, starting a fight you know you're going to lose. What if this guy is _really_ dangerous? What then? He could have a gun. A knife. He could kill you.

You start the fight anyway, fully intending to fight back, but lose anyway. It's a strange form of release. He gets pissed at you for swinging first, so he juts his jaw out and the look he gives you instantly makes you feel small. But it gives you a strange rush, like an addict coming back for another hit. You know what'll come from this interaction, and that familiarity makes you relieved. Your body gives in like it's been trained to. And, well... Simply put, he gives you a piece of his mind, just like you wanted him to. 

Your heart lodges itself in your throat and you wonder how you got to be this fucked up. 

Normal people don't do this. Normal people don't go out at night, looking for someone to hurt them. 

Yet it feels good, in a weird way you can't describe. It's like a bloodletting, you think. Draining you of every toxic thought, every toxic experience, at least for a little while. Being hurt sinks you into a familiar headspace, one where you feel scared, but paradoxically safe and comfortable. That familiarity is easy to lapse into and even easier to encourage. 

You can hear Bro's voice, a whisper in the back of your head, his voice a cold, metallic, empty anger that leaves you breathless. _I'm real. Are you?_ Feeling fists connect with your body, the dull thud of connection, gives you an easy answer. You're real, at least right now. After, maybe not so much. But for now, you're real.

You're real and you know what you're good for, and you think Bro would be proud.

As the guy finishes up with you, the comfort is replaced by shame. What good is Bro's pride? Maybe he'd be satisfied that you haven't gotten a big head or anything like that, but he'd still look down at you and see that you're weak. You're still weak. Needing a random stranger to _hurt_ you and use you, just to feel like you're real.

Just to feel like you have a place.

God. When did you get so fucked up? 

You limp home, somehow emptier inside than when you left. Your body hurts. Your heart hurts. The knowledge that you're doing this to yourself, that you have the ability to be safe, but simply don't want to take advantage of it, stings. It rips any semblance of self-compassion straight from you, because if you want it now, did you ever not? What's it mean for yourself, if you were never the _victim of abuse_ that you're sworn to be, but an accomplice?

You slip into the apartment as quietly as possible, but Dirk is still awake. Of course he is. And the moment you step out from the shadow of the door, he notices you. Turns to you. You see that shift in expression, the confusion, the fear, the anger, and you hate that you were the one to put that there. 

You were the one who did this to yourself, and yet Dirk is the one paying the price. 

How is that fair?

Bro's voice answers, as flat and imposing as you remember it. _See what happens when I'm not there to keep you from hurting other people?_

You inhale sharply at nearly the same time Dirk does. 

"What happened?" Dirk asks. He can probably see your guilt in the way you hold yourself, all tense and drawn in. It's written plainly on your skin. In your eyes and the draw of your lips. You don't want to tell him, but he seems to understand without you saying anything. Or, at least, he seems to have seen it coming. You're not as good at hiding things as you like to think you are, after all.

"I'm fine," you say instead of answering. Because you are. Doing that calmed you down in a way you can't put into words. You may hate yourself more than you did before, but at least the pain is something you can understand and process. It's something you can hide behind, slip into and disappear, and that's just what you need right now.

You just don't think you could ever express that to Dirk without coming off as a total wackjob. 

He looks at you. Takes off his shades to put you more at ease. The way his eyebrows furrow says it all: _I don't believe you. Why aren't you letting me help you?_

You don't know why. You wish you did, because it isn't like you want to hate yourself like this. You'd much rather fit in, understand who you are, and become a functioning adult. Instead, you have these messed up desires, and it complicates everything. It makes you feel like a monster. Makes you wish Bro was here to control you, because your purpose would be back, you wouldn't be hurting other people, you'd only be hurting yourself. He knows exactly how to hurt you, maybe knows you better than anyone else ever could, and it's something you could appreciate just about now. 

You shrug, because not saying anything is better than the alternative. You don't want to say anything that'll turn Dirk away from you. To have him reject you for who you truly are.

He shakes his head, but not unkindly. He sets everything down and turns in his chair so he's facing you completely. "Maybe it's a good time to mention it. But... I was thinking. Maybe we could start therapy...?"

When his voice trails off, you hate that he sounds just as lost as you are inside. You feel responsible, but more than responsible, you feel shameful. Back to the stubbornness, you can't help but think that only if you were stronger, this wouldn't be happening. You would be okay, Dirk wouldn't look so upset, and everything would be fine. 

You don't want to see a therapist. If you can't handle this on your own, you don't deserve to have it handled by a random professional. You don't deserve to be coddled. Bro never coddled you, he knew you didn't deserve it. Fuck. Everything's all tangled up. You hate Bro. You miss him. 

You want to be okay.

Dirk's face is so open and eager that you can't help but give in to the path of least resistance. You want to be as little of an inconvenience as possible. "Maybe. I guess. If you think it'd help." Before he can say more, your voice pitches up and a pathetic excuse of a sentence rushes out of you like a desperate whine. You don't like how young you sound. Like you're six and you've been caught doing something you weren't supposed to. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. You didn't sign up for this."

He sighs. There's something sad in the slope of his shoulders. Like he's carrying generations of guilt. Like he can see straight through you. "You didn't either, dude. I think we're both in way over our heads."

You have to admit that he's right. You didn't sign up for this either, but you're so used to taking responsibility for everyone _and_ yourself that you just don't know how to... Well. Accept that some things are out of your control. That some things just happen, and they aren't always your fault. You're in over your head, and so is Dirk.

You didn't ask for Bro to do this to you, but he did it anyway. Where's the justice in that? Where's the justice in all of this pain? Are you punishing yourself because you never got to punish him? Because it was always your fault, so it must still be? Fuck.

You feel sick. There's too much in your head, and you can't get it out. "Yeah I..." You give in and sit down on the couch. You hold yourself in your arms. Another sad attempt at self-soothing. "I don't know what to do anymore. I'm a fucking mess." 

"Can't fight with you on that one Bro," Dirk smiles at you, though it's pained and slightly forced. "But I am too. I think I only realized it because of you though. You really opened my eyes, kind of made me confront that I've just been kidding myself this whole time, too."

You look over to him, not quite understanding. The thought of you being able to, well, help anyone with anything seems strange. And almost unbelievable. Like a lie. A placation. 

Dirk grimaces. "I don't think I would've ever even thought about seeing someone for... All this." He gestures to his head and shrugs. "Always thought I had it under control. But seeing you, realizing that maybe... I don't know. Fuck. It's hard to articulate. It's just showing me that this isn't how things have to be, you know."

"I think I do...?" You sigh, thinking about all the unnecessary pain that you put yourself through. And for what? "I can't really say that I think I deserve the help. But maybe the whole deserving thing is bunk as hell anyway. I dunno."

"Hell yeah, it is." Dirk comes and sits next to you. Slings a gentle, cautious arm around your damaged body. "Let's get you looked at, alright? We can talk about all the heavy shit later, I just want to make sure you're good. And you know, wanted to be an older bro you could come to for this stuff."

"I mean I am. I'm fine, I can do it on my own." You know old habits die hard. Here you are, banged up and still trying to own up. Man up. Do it yourself. Regulate. Control. Be better, be more than you could ever hope to be.

But that's not on you. No human being is capable of being what you strive to be: a robot. Absent of feelings, thoughts, and desires. A machine. Maybe it's not the best thing to aspire to be.

Maybe you're allowed to need help. Or want it, even if you don't need it. Maybe it makes you weak, but maybe everything is, in one way or another. Maybe being weak is synonymous to being alive. And maybe that's it's own brand of okay, too. 

You lick your lips and slowly duck your chin to your chest. "Actually. I mean... If it isn't an inconvenience...?"

"Not at all," Dirk says, saving you from the humiliating act of straight-up asking for help like an actual goddamn person. He helps you to your feet and leads you to the bathroom. Tender, in all the most unfamiliar of ways. It hurts, but you need it. You need it, you want it, you have some deep desire in you to be taken care of in the ways you've never been allowed. In the ways you perpetually keep yourself from receiving. 

But here, as Dirk sits you down on the toilet seat and fusses over you, something tugs at your heart.

You think that all along, throughout all your stubbornness, you just wanted someone to sit you down and tell you that it's okay to be human.

It's okay to be weak. 

And maybe you're stronger for it.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me over on twitter @hipdadz or tumblr @hipdads if ya want, thnx


End file.
